


An ocean full of love

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Father/Son Incest, Fluff, Foreskin Play, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, Love Bites, M/M, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the first months of the exile, Fëanor and Finwë soothe each other with love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An ocean full of love

Fëanáro turns to look over his shoulder at the hill-side they've just descended. Two sets of footsteps now mark the otherwise pristine white mantle that blankets it. It's the first true snowfall since they've arrived to Formenos, the first with snow piling up in deep layers, and the air is freezing cold. Fëanáro doesn't much care. He faces forward again and leans closer to his father, his left arm linked with Finwë's right. 

“Are you tired?” Finwë asks. 

Fëanáro looks up at his father's face – wrinkled with worry, with sorrow, but more relaxed than it had been in a long while, now that they have settled in and have begun thinking about the future again. Finwë's skin is lighter than Fëanáro's and the frosty winds have added a rosy tint to it that makes him look even more handsome to Fëanáro. 

“I'm fine,” he quietly says, and the smile Finwë gives him in response makes the moment even more peaceful. 

It had been Fëanáro's idea to take a walk, to see the hills and mountains that surround Formenos in their gleaming whiteness so long as there was light. Laurelin's brilliance is wan so far up north, and even at its peak the brightness is that of a clear dusk. Now the shadows are deepening, and the light of the lamp Fëanáro carries stands out clearly against the gathering gloom.

Huan barks and jumps, sending snow flying everywhere, cheering their approach from the gate. Lamps already light all the workshops as they cross the main courtyard, and the artisans and craftspeople greet them respectfully. The fortress isn't big – just a large stone building around which walled courtyards and outbuildings have been added to accommodate all of their closest attendants, turning the once-hunting lodge into a small village. 

In the entry hall, where a fire crackles in the large fireplace, Maitimo welcomes them, while Huan still barks and leaps happily at their return. 

“You're late,” Maitimo says with mock-reproach. 

“Sorry, we went a little further than planned,” Fëanáro replies, reaching out with his right arm towards his son. Maitimo comes forward and stoops over to accept the embrace, letting his father pull him towards himself. He kisses his father on the lips, just as a servant comes forward to take their coats. She bows and takes the garments without comment. If she saw the kiss, she doesn't show it. Their attendants, as well as the common folk who have left their own lives behind to accompany them, are all fiercely loyal and would follow them without question, no matter what. 

Fëanáro lets go of Maitimo after a powerful squeeze. “What are your brothers up to?”

“Curvo and Telvo have had an early dinner – a quick dinner – and are again shut up in the workshop, trying to figure out a way to put Cáno's latest idea for a new type of lute into practice.”

Fëanáro smiles at this – Macalaurë is ever inventive, even in exile, with no enraptured audiences to extol his talent.

“Cáno himself is of course fiddling with his precious instruments. Moryo and Turco are sparring, and Pityo has been in the kitchens for a while.” Maitimo turns to his grandfather and kisses him too. “Why don't you two take a bath while Pityo and I finish cooking dinner? I had the water heated up when I heard Huan start to bark.”

Finwë nods at his grandson, taking his gloves off. “That would be most welcome. The landscape is breathtaking to be sure, but the air is rather chilling.”

The fortress isn't big, and it would have been natural for father and son to share quarters even if they hadn't been lovers, too. Their bedchamber is narrow, the walls completely covered by tapestries to keep in as much heat from a large ceramic stove in the north-east corner as possible. A wide four-poster bed with heavy velvet curtains takes up most of the space. 

The bathroom is almost as large as the bedroom, and it's heated by its own stove. A tempting vapour rises from the tub, just as Maitimo said, and Finwë and Fëanáro quickly take each other's clothing off to take advantage of it. Finwë gathers Fëanáro's hair in his hands and twists it with expert gestures in a single braid, which he then fixes to the top of Fëanáro's head. When he's done, he places a kiss to Fëanáro's nape, letting his lips linger on the skin long enough to make Fëanáro shiver. 

Finwë is the first to get into the tub, sinking into the warm water until it covers his shoulders. Fëanáro follows suit, settling comfortably between his legs. Finwë's strong arms circle his waist and squeeze him to his chest. The water splashes gently as Fëanáro lets his hands wander over his father's arms and legs, tracing contours he knows to the last detail. 

Finwë lets the touch, the heat, and the lulling sound of the water soothe his body and his mind. Still, he can't keep all worrisome thoughts at bay, and after a time, he sighs. “We will make everything right again, together. Twelve years are long, but we will have all the time after that. I will have Melkor apprehended and made to answer for what he has done to us, to our people.” Finwë places a clumsy kiss to the side of Fëanáro's head that ends up landing on Fëanáro's ear, but Fëanáro shivers in delight, even if his father's words are fraught with anguish. “But you must promise me you won't ever doubt my love, never again. Nothing, nobody could take your place.”

Fëanáro nods, a quick assertive movement. The maddening fear that he could lose his father's love seems so foolish now that he can go to sleep in his father's arms every night. His banishment has proven to be a blessing in disguise, and he is dismayed by the hurt Finwë endured more than by anything else. “I will do what you say, Father.” 

Finwë hums an acknowledgement and his lips slide from Fëanáro's ear to his nape. He sprinkles it with kisses, and nips at the skin right above the water's surface, each contact a spell to push worry further away, and slowly travels back to the side of his neck. His hands slide up from Fëanáro's waist and stop on Fëanáro's nipples, pinching them, while his mouth begins to suckle on the spot just behind his jaw. When they emerge from the bath, there will be a mark there, a patch of purplish red, and Fëanáro will keep his hair tied out of the way to show it off, and to keep it in sight as a reminder to himself of his father's love.

Finwë tugs at Fëanáro's nipples none too gently, eliciting moans and uncontrolled yelps, and making them so hard and tingly that Fëanáro groans when he lets go of them, half in protest, half in pleasure as hot water surrounds them again. 

Finwë pulls on the skin he holds his mouth, and his palms press over the sensitised nubs one last time before his right hand travels down to Fëanáro's cock. His fingers wrap around it, and for a while just hold it like that. Even without further stimulation, the organ begins to swell with the combined effect of the light pressure and the simple familiarity of the touch. It hardens and thickens, pulsating with need against Finwë's palm. 

“Dad –” Fëanáro whines, his voice the sweetest sound Finwë could hope to hear. 

He releases Fëanáro's neck for moment, and chuckles against the budding love-bite. “Do not be impatient,” he purrs, firm and amused all in one, “luxuriate in my love, let me coddle you with it.” He licks the bruised spot, and goes back to sucking on it again. His hand holds Fëanáro's erection in a snug grip, and glides up and down its length, purposefully slow, so slow that the brush of his fingers along taut skin and bulging veins is a vexation to Fëanáro more than a source of pleasure, and yet almost too good to bear. 

“Father!” Fëanáro whines louder.

Finwë goes even slower, his hand dawdling teasingly in its up and down motion, until it stops on the tip. His thumb goes back and forth over the slit, and presses down, nudging the tiny opening there as if to enter it. Fëanáro hisses and bucks, almost making the water spill over the edge of the tub. Finwë would spend entire days fondling Fëanáro like that, feeling his body quiver against his own. He starts sliding the foreskin back and forth over the very sensitive skin of Fëanáro's cockhead, pulling it steadily upwards, until he finally hooks his index finger under its brim, and stretches it enough for his finger to slip inside. 

Fëanáro's eyes bulge and he presses back against his father, emitting a low throaty groan.

Finwë bites down hard on his neck, and at the same time his left hand slithers down too, cupping Fëanáro's balls, locking him in place. He slips a second finger inside his foreskin, spreading it delicately. His thumb rubs over it from outside, exceedingly delicate too. 

He continues like that, patient, and careful. Fëanáro quivers more markedly in his hold with each new stroke of his fingers, desperate for more of that delicious friction. His left hand grips the edge of the tub, the right lands on Finwë's knee. His hips jolt in quick, small movements, and when Finwë pulls his fingers away from his foreskin only to fist the whole length of his cock again in one quick sweep, he comes. 

His chest heaves deeply, but Finwë's weight and hands keep him still. He lets go of his neck, kissing it one last time, and his hands release Fëanáro's cock to wrap around him again, keeping him in place when he makes to turn.

“I want to reciprocate,” Fëanáro says. 

Finwë doesn't budge. “You can do that later,” he coos. “I will fill you my seed, and I will taste you. It's a pity I couldn't do it now, but after dinner we'll have the whole, long night to ourselves, and we won't sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song [I want love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ew62KQnglDo).


End file.
